Spiegel van Amsterdams zomervreugd, op de dorpen Amstelveen, Slooten, en den Overtoom, vertónende deszel...

With its murderous sight, it knows how to destroy more people,
Than war can kill in a year with fire or steel,
However gladly Maivors Mars/the God of War treads into the blood of individuals;
Yet many are saved here from the final gasp
By the medicines provided to them in this Plague House A hospital for the sick, often contagious, at that time.;
Mercy in distress is enthroned here,
Through the noble foresight of our wise Magistrate,
Who never abandons the needy in their plight,
But comes to support their suffering with help and consolation.
Now turning the eye back toward the Amstel dike,
The Almshouse The Aalmoesseniershuis, an institution for orphans and the poor. immediately comes into my view,
That noble building, so spacious, so large, founded
For the benefit of the orphans who lose their parents' care,
Stands out to me in this view as the most beautiful building to choose.
Here, Godliness has set its seat,
Here she clothes and feeds, according to the will and law of heaven,
And teaches the innocent youth to know the light of truth,
To accustom themselves from their earliest years to honor and virtue,
She does not look at religion in the orphan children,
But extends to friend and stranger a magic lantern A metaphor for guidance or illumination. and comfort;
The innocent foundling is raised by her,
Suckled, nurtured, fed to the utmost of her ability,
One knows here no difference of origin or lineage,
Each is brought what they need according to requirements.
But tell me: who governs here almost two thousand children?
Who can prevent confusion, strife, and discord here?
The wise foresight of the Regents sets that measure;
Each knows his work, and what he has to do,
To take care of everything accurately at its proper time,
What is needed for the afternoon, the evening, or the morning.
O World-city! The help you show to the Poor,
Has crowned you with fame and honor throughout the Universe,
Your City Fathers are praised for this virtue.
Where is the needy given such support,
Than here, which happens through their care and wise policy?
While everyone offers the sad orphan their help and assistance;
To support their suffering through kindness,
With justice, O Y-city A common nickname for Amsterdam, situated on the IJ.! you may then bear the glory,
Even though you took your first origin from the low reeds,
That the stranger calls you compassionate Amsterdam.
The day rises higher, it is time to move on,
I see the Overtoom with all the charms of its view,
The flowing Krithlyn a poetic term for a clear, crystal-like body of water seems here a mirror glass,
To see houses and trees in the silver splash
A second time, while the eyes start to stare
At all the small boats, which here cause each other to tangle.
This one hurries to the city, laden with summer greens,
To make a greater profit through its early arrival,
That one rushes back to his estate to fetch fruits,
There we see a pleasure boat boasting with its flag and pennant,
The youth sing so that it resounds, and know no sorrow or pain,
While they happily enter the Overtoom,
And quench the dry throat with the sap of Bacchus’s fruit Wine.:
It seems that the dreary care must flee from this place,
And that joy has established its seat here,
One finds, wherever one turns, a pleasure for the sight,
Through the pleasant joy of the lovely country life.
It pleases me to give myself a little rest here
In the Court of Holland, where the heart finds refreshment
Through Liber’s Bacchus, the Roman god of wine. nectar drink: how lovely the wind rustles
Through branch and twig, to break Apollo’s glow!
The shadow covers my head, I have evaded the sun,
And rest here safely in the fresh open air.
But who disturbs my enjoyment, through the hasty noise

And shouting: "Haul! Pull ahead! Look sharp! Now it will

Who dares, O Temple of Amstel! to snatch away your rest?
Who disturbs your amusement here? But softly, my spirit, you err,
It is the noise of the people who haul boats over,
Where the water sees itself limited by a Water-barrier,
So as not to go too high, or sink too low.
But to hold it in balance, to make the passage
Exist through it, which yields so many fruits,
And knows how to give so much food to the fortress of Amstel
I am driven further on by curiosity.
And slap the Ferry-house of the Leiden barge by.
But softly! Where am I going? The wild Lake Referring to the Haarlemermeer, then a dangerous, expansive body of water. can
With its turbulent wetness not please me in the least;
I see with more pleasure the trees bearing blossoms,
The gardens adorned, honored with fruits and herbs,
Than her that day after day consumes the solid land,
To give even more rein to her water-realm.
O Star of Holland! Century! That with your war-banners
Have often made the proud enemy in the battlefield
Tremble before your power: when Spain held you confined
Through the pressure of the Inquisition, the chains broken,
Spoken for the lawful right through the thundering cannons,
Put yourself free, put an end to this plague
That gnawed through your heart, and sees its greatness
In the losing of your clover-rich meadows?
Awake O Lion! Awake! To lead the monster out,
Dampen, dampen that hollow pool, before it becomes

For if it once escapes the grip of its dike,
It threatens to overflow your lands and villages,
Therefore it is more than time to tame its fury,
While I turn myself back to my abandoned path.
There the Buitendruk lit. "Outer Print" or "External Print"; here referring to a textile printing works comes before me in my walk,
And lifts its little tower far above the tops of the trees.
O Buitendruk! Have you never had disaster or pressure to fear?
And does the truth correspond with your inscription,
If so, you are a paradise, where all the blessings
Of the first paradise appear to us anew?
But no: it cannot be, where would no unrest dwell?
Where did no pressure ever reign in the entire round world?
The pressure lives everywhere, from there where the morning hour
Paints the horizons with gold, to there, where the evening rays
Of the sun descend into the tossing salt of Thetis The sea..
But Buitendruk, have I understood this word correctly?
O No! Ignorance has made the judgment here.
How will she best reconcile that error again?
Your Buitendruk looks to the printing art of the Cottons,
Which you adorn with flower, and vine, and diamond, and bird,
The dyes according to requirement, each managed by art,
Make Flora’s gifts appear to us on the white cotton.
Let the East-moor freely build glory on his Scissen Chintz/Indian printed fabrics,
Our domestic print does not yield to his brush,
The neatness and the art are here in every part
Combined in the most exquisite way, to carry off the prize,
And in knowledge to yield to no other land.
What pleasant sight charms my attention again?
Where I, O Buitendruk! turn myself through the trees,
To view you from behind along the water?
Here you show off elegantly with all your outbuildings,
While the swift keel hurries along your edges
With oar and sail, where everyone finds their eye-pleasure

In the rippling wet, where the little fish play,
And with their swift speed tickle the sight quite nicely,
Until the cast net, or the hook surprises them,
When the greedy mouth stays stuck on the bait,
And causes them to lose their life along with their freedom.
Innocent little fish! I must choose you as an example
Of many a worldling, who thoughtlessly stares
At the deceptive beauty, and carelessly wakes and sleeps,
As if no disaster or calamity could ever reach him,
While he pursues nothing but vain amusements.
But alas! How often is he caught at the most unexpected moment,
When he sees his reputation, property, and treasure
Cast down to the ground through frivolity, then he must taste the hook
Of the withering remorse, he feels his heart by the screws
Of despair pressed together, then all the vain beauty departs,
And he who loved the world receives then the world’s reward.
But that reflection must not pull me off the path,
I proceed best on my way, to discover something new again.
There is the Royal Place: here rested a bit again,
While the eye everywhere discovers a new pleasure,
In seeing house and court, of water and of trees;
They mirror their crown in the rippling of the streams,
Which the feathered tribe with its clear organ-throat
Floats through the rustling green, the clear Philomel The nightingale.
Lets herself be heard for others at the very best, deathly silent.
Has she previously lost her tongue through Thereus’s hand,
When he had outrageously raped the tender maiden,
And she in revenge slaughtered the son at the father’s table,
And made him, as Atreus did, gnaw the roasted meat,
The Gods have bestowed a tongue upon her again,
Where all the feathered tribe must yield in sound,
And with that heavenly tone I find myself greeted here,
To add the enjoyment of the ear to the lust of the eye.
Who must not then enjoy themselves in this dear place,
Where the little bird deafens Apollo’s lute-playing?
But softly: who calls there, "I wish you a good journey! Farewell?"
How has greed taken possession of this place too,
To obtain money and treasure through a long journey?
Does boldness strive here also through sea, through storm and wind,
Along sand, and bank, and cliff, that devours many a ship,
To the gold-rich Western part, to track down treasures?
Or does one aim in the East at the black-said Moors?
To drag pearls and gemstones from the other day of the world
To this coast, with an unfurled flag,
As triumphant, to come into the harbor?
O No! My zeal has taken hold of me too soon,
This is a friend’s wish (the Leiden barge is casting off)
That the one gave to the other friend here at his departure,
To meet along the Rynland’s Capital the hollow Lake,
And respectfully greet Holland’s High School The University of Leiden.,
Where Learning shines on the throne of Wisdom,
While around her head a crown of seven stars radiates,
As a sign that she provides a nursing Woman to the
Seven free Arts, who on her favors
Can rely calmly, for art is without power,
If no help is brought by learning;
This we could sufficiently in Painters and Poets,
Sculptors, and all those who claim something of art,
Prove, but this was too far off the track
And wandered out of my way, my walking goes now ahead.
I turn myself landwards again, on paths green with edges,

Where along the water it lets its silver ripples stream,
I see the pleasant sight, that stretches toward the Baarjes,
O Uitvlagtplaat's referring to a scenic spot for outings, which pulls the heart of Amstel’s Youth,
To betake themselves here by summertime,
And to live in the shade of your youthful green,
Although for a short time, while everyone’s profession presses them
To go back to town: thus is the recreation best,
Yes necessary, when it is determined by afterthought,
To damage the prosperity by no loss of time,
But at its time to watch the profession accurately,
Thus remains the recreation and household equally standing:
Therefore I must go and discover this place closer,
For everything that I see seems to wake my lust.
There is the Mill-way closely occupied with houses,
Thus my eye is prevented from the sight here of the land;
But this loss comes to me like a gain,
On the pleasant display of Amstel’s West Tower,
Which carries Germany’s Imperial crown on its steep point,
Granted to the city, when the Bruges rabble too wits A reference to historical tensions with Bruges.
Dared to shackle their lawful Overlord in the Dungeon,
But the Y-city has, with help, the hateful disfiguring
Of the Imperial power punished at the harshest,
And provided the imprisoned Prince freedom again,
For which the crossed shield has acquired the Imperial crown.
O West Tower, carry the sign of that blessing
Long on your crown, to your friends as a joy,
To your enemies as a horror! Thus will our Amstel youth,
When they see this sign, always learn faithfulness,
And know with awe to honor their Government,
Now having gone further on the Amstelveen way again,
Here the Little Tower with its trees holds me standing,
Where Willink enjoys rest in the cheerful country life.
O Pleasant place! If I could view your walking paths
According to my lust, in what a flower carpet
Would the eye feed itself, but since you are closed
I can only behold your elegance from the outside.
The Garden Lord is easily moved by this Image
To show us the inside of his pleasure place,
And calmly to offer his hand and favor to art.
To show us all her beauty through the etching needle,
Meanwhile he must live here with rest and joy,
And see all that grows there adorned with flower and fruit:
Whether Flora or Pomona Goddess of fruit trees. celebrates her holiday on the land,
Where the one garlands herself with lilies and roses,
Which blush in the Springtime in the winding flower bed.
And the other in the Autumn weaves for herself a fresh crown
Of tree growths, which as elegant, as beautiful,
Please the eye through their color, the mouth through taste,
And remain over in the barren winter days.
Farewell, O Little Tower! Bloom long in peace and rest!
Here Elsryk gives me new power and lust again,
To repeat the breath by the refreshing green,
Even though the closed gate wants to limit my entrance.
The eye presses through there, and sees quite astonished
The noble building, placed just before the lane,
To let the eye feed with space along four sides.
O Singing nymph! With what sigh do you await the entvied the moment of entry/invitation,
That you, as you are already promised in doubt,
Will see the inside beauty? How will you then the head,
By the fragrant flower carpet, crown with laurel,
To show your gratitude to Lord Kuikens’s favor,
How will you then eternalize Elsryk, the name
Of his Landlord on the wings of Fame,
As far as your song can, to the end of the world carry!
Now let the eye only go along cut hedges,
Where in the Summer house is contained on both sides,
Whose